The beginnings and endings of life
Mind and soul, heart and body…
All come into conflict.
Genesis
The Hands of Empathy
by Jess Angel
7
Vincent paced around the open area of the apartment. His metal claw clutched a cordless phone to his ear while human fingers pulled at the buckles on his cloak. "I understand." He hastily unfastened the last strap and threw the garment on the nearby coach. "The others…" Vincent paused then raised a hand to message his temples. "Yes, I have as well."
"I see…" The dark-haired man turned. "No, the Turks should stay with you." He checked the clock that hung on the far left wall. "Yes, four guards will be fine… Thank you." Vincent reached down to feel Peacemaker in his holster. "…I shall keep lookout too."
The gunman let out a quiet breath. "…I'm fine. Reeve, many questions plague my mind-" Vincent let the president speak, then answered, "Yes, tomorrow… I'll try," before he resumed his pacing.
"She-" Vincent turned around again, throwing a glance towards an open door. Tifa.
She wasn't in her room.
Red eyes shifted to the front door…
It was still locked.
"She's doing… as best as can be expected." He went over to check the locks again. "I will." They were secure. "Yes. All right."
"You too." The phone was off with a beep then gently placed back on its stand. Vincent collected his cloak and Death Penalty then headed towards Tifa's room. He waited outside the entrance and knocked on the doorframe… just in case.
There was no answer.
Vincent took a slow step forward. His eyes skimmed around the space. Everything appeared untouched. Nothing had been moved or was out of place. Even the bed was still made. He moved to her windows. They were the only ones he hadn't inspected yet. He gave them each a strong tug. Neither window budged.
Satisfied, the former Turk moved back to the door, laying his cloak and Death Penalty on the chair situated outside - beside the room's exit. He then continued his search, making his way to Cloud's room. After he twisted the knob, Vincent opened the door to find…
It too was empty.
He quickly pulled the barrier closed and with an increased pace, moved to other areas of the apartment. Before his actions could become any more frantic, Vincent found himself stopped outside the doorway of a bathroom. Though the door was barely ajar, a curtain of chocolate-colored hair was visible between the small space.
Vincent placed a hand on the wood, and the door soundlessly glided back allowing him in. For a few moments, he said nothing. No words seemed able to pass from his lips. So he just watched her…
And it ached - what he saw - to see her in such a state.
He allowed his voice to soften so as not to startle her. "Tifa?"
She continued staring blankly at the water-filled sink. Her hands lay motionless, soaking in the hot fluid. Vincent could see the white smoke of steam rise from the burning liquid. The water was polluted by some red tinge. It was blood… Cloud's blood.
"Vincent…" Her eyes never strayed. "I-I can't get it off… It-" Her voice filled with panic. "It won't come off!"
Tifa began to viciously scrub her hands in the scalding water, rubbing the flesh raw. "Oh God… oh God-" A metal claw took hold of her wrists forcing her still. She blinked up at him, the warm tears coursing down her face. He grabbed the bar of soap on the side and then gently began to clean her bloodied hands.
Tifa watched as Vincent ran cooler water over her reddened skin. A slight feeling of calm started to settle in her, as he rinsed her hands clean. Lightly and carefully, he patted a towel over the pinkish flesh. Once they were dry, he hung the cloth back up and then gave each hand a brief examination. Thankfully, no real harm was done.
"…Vincent."
He released his hold. "Come, Tifa. You need rest." The gunman started towards the door.
Before he could get any further, Vincent could almost feel the tremor in her legs. Like instinct, he turned swiftly to catch her arm, predicting the falter of her first steps. Tifa used him to right herself and willed to clear the dizziness from her head, taking a moment to breathe.
Vincent's red eyes looked at her questioningly.
"I-I can make it."
He nodded, and they both began walking again, her hand warming his shoulder.
Tifa's warmth left him, and Vincent observed her as she felt for the surface of the mattress before seating herself on its edge. He moved to her drawers. "Change and get some rest, Tifa. Everyone will be here tomorrow." He pulled out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of warm sweats. "Until then… you should sleep."
The water began to leak from her eyes again, but Tifa made no sound.
Vincent turned his head and noticed the spring of new tears. He walked back towards her, clothes in hand. "Tifa…" She buried her face in her hands. She had to stop letting him see her like this. But the pain was still too fresh; it was raw and jagged inside of her. And she couldn't hold back so easily. Her strength seemed sapped. Tifa had never felt so weak - not like this - in a long time.
Something warm and something cold simultaneously pried her hands away, leaving her exposed.
Vincent knelt at her eye level, the clothes having been discarded at her side. "There's no need to hide." Her chin continued to venture low. "Tifa…" She reluctantly lifted her eyes. "The sun will rise tomorrow… as will you." She sniffled. "But for now," he momentarily eyed her shirt, stained with blood and tears, "please change."
A heart like hers did not deserve the repetition of such a burden. Her life had been darkened by these stains enough.
Half-heartedly, Tifa shook her head. "I-It's all right, Vincent. I can sleep… like this." He felt a drop of liquid on his human hand. "I - just don't have the energy right now…" Gradually, she slumped forward, and he let her softly land on him, her head leaning on the curve between his right shoulder and neck.
The warmth of her breath pressed against his collarbone.
…And Vincent began to regret his decision.
She needed to change.
Lightly, both Vincent's hands felt for the edges of a fabric. He slowly began to pull upward, unhindered - the straps of her suspenders having already been undone. "Up," he commanded, his voice coming out a little rougher than intended. He slightly backed away, forcing her to sit up.
Though her head still hung low, Tifa complied and lifted heavy arms, allowing him to pull the garment over her head. Vincent tossed the soiled cloth onto the bed and retrieved the clean t-shirt, stretching apart the top opening. "Here."
Tifa raised her eyes to look forward, while he kept his fixed on a spot in the middle of her forehead. She ducked into the shirt then poked her arms out of the wide sleeves.
Vincent abruptly stood and went to dispose of the dirty blouse. When he turned, Tifa was already beside him, tossing her skirt into the hamper. She wore the sweats. "Vincent, I'm sorry." She wrapped her arms about her body, her face flushed. "I was acting… childish."
"You weren't acting childish." He looked at the young woman. "You were acting out of grief." He tentatively laid a hand on her back, leading her to the bed again. "You're tired." He restrained a sigh. "You need sleep." He drew out the sheets and she obediently climbed in.
After switching off the lamp on her bedside table, he started to back away. "I'll be out by the door… if you need anything…"
Tifa gave him a nod. As he moved further, the footfalls seemed to echo louder in her ears, magnifying the hollowness of her room.
"Vincent."
He was already at the door.
"Stay here." She stared at Vincent's back; the light from the hall silhouetted his form.
"Tifa, I need to keep watch-"
"Keep watch from here." She sat up, her hands on the bedcovers tightening. "Just for tonight."
He began walking again.
"…I'll get the chair."
As Vincent brought over the piece of furniture, cloak and gun in tow, Tifa directed him over. "Put it right here." She pointed to a space next to the bed before slowly laying herself down once more.
Vincent's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I don't think…" The words died on his lips. To indulge in his own comfort now would be selfishness.
Tifa pushed away her spacing thoughts. "I'm sorry, Vincent." She returned her attention to her friend. "I didn't hear… What did you say?"
He placed the chair where she specified. "I said nothing." He fixed his red cloak on the back of the seat. "Go to sleep, Tifa," he repeated before sitting down. Vincent's cold claw raised to touch his neck.
She turned on her shoulder to face him fully. "I wish I could." Her voice was somber. "…I want to."
Vincent's metal claw fell away from his skin.
"But I don't think I could even if I tried…" Tifa reached out a hand to him.
Hesitantly, Vincent allowed his human hand to rest on hers, and Tifa curled her fingers around to secure. The corner of her eyes were glistening, the light of the hall touching the sides. "God… Vincent, it just hurts so much. It hurts so much I wish I was numb. I-I wish I felt nothing."
His hand unconsciously tightened around hers. "You are the most humane person I've ever met, Tifa." He felt his throat constrict. "Don't wish that away, even if only to forget your own pain." Crimson orbs stared at the pillow by her head. "To feel… is to live."
Vincent's gaze lowered further. "You loved Cloud." He suddenly raised his eyes to her. "There is no shame in that."
Tifa managed a little nod. "You're… you're right." She sighed. "You're right, Vincent. I… I did love him." Her throat swallowed. "But," she turned on her back again, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. Her hand continued to grip his. "I mean… I could've-" Tifa paused. "I could've really loved him."
She held his gaze. "…You know?"
Vincent began to shake his head.
"Like," she squeezed his hand, "like how you loved Lucrecia." Tifa wondered if her tears would ever cease. "We - I… I never got there." She let out a shaky breath. "That little girl in me… the one from Nibelheim." A wistful smile was lit. "Before all life's tragedies, she wished like any other. She hoped against hope." Her lips sighed again. "She believed that kind of love… was there. For her. Existing for her. …She just needed to find it." Tifa almost wanted to laugh at her next words. "Wait for it…"
"Tifa, you're still young." Vincent reminded her, and silently, himself. Tifa Lockheart was resilience itself, stronger than he had been - than he could ever be. She would be iron, where he had been breakable wood. He looked at their entwined hands… She still had a life to live. "Let her hope against hope."
The small smile she gave him barely reached her eyes. But Vincent knew she could beat this - that she would.
Tifa's sparkle was too bright to diminish.
Stars would envy still.
In your eyes I see a darkness that torments you
And in your head where it dwells
I'd give you my hand if you'd reach out and grab it
Let's walk away from this hell…
–The Juliana Theory, "Into The Dark"
